Unusual
by Bright Silver Lady of Midnight
Summary: Be it a son of Athena who hates homework or a daughter of Hephaestus who can't forge to save her life, the freaks of the Half-Blood world do happen, and when they do, they have to stick together. One shot. T for safety. R&R, please.


The tiny daughter of Hephaestus made an angry noise in the back of her throat when the sword she was attempting to forge ended up bent at a ninety degree angle.

Her black-clad son of Apollo boyfriend looked up from his PSP, "Something wrong?" He asked, brown eyes empathetic, charcoal black hair sticking up straight in a state of disarray.

She tried her best in the forges, unlike her brothers and sisters who put no effort into the beautiful things they made.

He liked sitting with her because when she was in the forges, they were empty. He wasn't very social like his siblings, but they took pleasure in each other's company, both knowing that they were a disgrace to their fathers.

Angry, she held up the mutated sword. Any of his brothers would've laughed and pounded her with a rousing chorus of "_If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."_

He looked at her sympathetically and said, "Well, you've gotten a little better... do you remember the knife?"

She covered her eyes with the sooty hand that wasn't holding the tongs that dangled the failed attempt at a sword, and groaned, "Don't remind me. I swear my dad's this close to disowning me." She removed her hand from her now sooty face and held her tiny thumb and index finger roughly an inch apart.

The son of Aphrodite strode in, wearing ripped, dirty jeans and a dirty _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer _tee shirt. It was evident that he hadn't combed his hair in awhile, but he honestly couldn't care less. His pale, unappealing face was dotted with freckles that didn't match his dark red, coarse hair and looked slightly ridiculous with bright blue eyes.

Without a word, he took the failed attempt at forgery from the tiny girl and set about fixing it.

_***_

The daughter of Dionysus and the son of Athena sat side by side on the beach. She was engrossed in his homework, he was sipping her wine. She hated wine, but her father insisted that she drink at least a bottle a week. He was happy to help her, and she didn't mind doing his work.

"Thanks again for this." He said, nodding and holding up the bottle of Moet

She laughed without humor, "_I _should be thanking _you_. I swear I'll scream if I have to drink any more champagne or wine or beer or whatever. It makes my head hurt and my stomach feel weird."

_***_

The son of Ares sighed and put his sword down. He would never take joy in fighting or killing. That was just that.

When he was older, he wanted to be a teacher, not that anyone would believe it. His massive frame was similar to that of his siblings, but he thought fighting primal, vulgar, and appalling.

Behind him, a cruel voice said, "Still can't get it?"

The son of Ares nodded and the son of Demeter smiled wickedly, "Sometimes, I swear that you're the tree-hugging pacifist son of Demeter, and I'm the war monger son of Ares."

"I wish it was that way," the son of Ares sighed, "because then I wouldn't be a major disappointment."

"Look, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times. You do it like _this._" He pulled out his own sword, arched it, and sliced, making a clean slice from the dummy's shoulder and ripped right through to the other side.

_He makes it look so easy_, thought the son of Ares with a depressed internal sigh.

"Now you try it." He handed him his own sword, and stepped back

The son of Ares failed epically, making the daughter of Hermes, who had walked up to give advice, smile on the inside.

She kept her head down and refused to steal from anyone. Stealing, mockery, being a messenger, and general tomfoolery like that was unappealing to her.

What she was really interested in was historical artifacts. She hoped to be a historian one day.

"Fighting is cruel and vulgar. I don't see why we need to fight. Can't everyone just get along?"

The daughter of Hermes sighed and put her hand over his on the hilt. She raised it over his head, and slashed downwards, stopping just before she hit the dummy, "Now you try."

He raised the sword awkwardly above his head, and then slashed vertically downwards, cutting an inch of arm off and making the other two groan.

The freaks of the Half-Blood world are few and far in between, but when they do crop up, they have to stick together.


End file.
